To Smile
by LadyCerise1891
Summary: Weddings are meant to be happy things. Hermione knew this and still, she was unable to muster the ability to function like a normal bride should on her wedding day. Tears of sorrow, not joy, are stopped when an abundance of understanding and sense come from an unlikely source. One-shot. Post Battle of Hogwarts. Slight A/U.


Weddings were supposed to be happy occasions. They should be the most perfect moment because you were marrying the perfect person. Blissful, overwhelming joy should have people moved to tears.

Hermione found herself staring into eyes that had been reddened for a very different reason. She felt a small bit of happiness, the day being the completion of a fancy she'd had since she was 12. Something else had a hold of her heart, though, making it clutch in anguish instead of joy.

A loss so strong that she could only be complacent and compliant to the utter insanity that was her current predicament. One wall, both figuratively and literally, had left her with no chance. No choice. The rubble that was left couldn't be swept up, and couldn't ever be restored.

Fred Weasley wouldn't be standing at the end of the aisle when the time came. His rushed confession of feelings so well hidden for so incomprehensibly long was left to the dust that hung in the air in the one moment. Like the tears that were soaking into her robe's sleeves, they disappeared almost as soon as they had had the room to breathe and possibly grow.

Since her fourth year, he'd said. She'd been cute until then. That year, she'd started giving as good as she got and he was undone. It'd been building since he'd spied her harassing Ron her first year, and turned into a seemingly never ending expansion. He wanted to talk when it was over and everyone was safe. He was going to clear the air, make his intention unmistakably known. He was going to fight for her.

And then, with laughter on his lips, he'd been felled.

She took a deep breath and wiped her face as she heard foot steps echo from the hall. "'Mione?" Ginny knocked once then entered, face bright until she caught sight of her friend's eyes. "Oh, Hermione. Why are you crying? Ron isn't so terrible."

She tried to laugh, but it came out a strangled, wet sounding mess. Ginny, beside herself, did her best to comfort her. Everything she said that had the potential for making her friend only made the piteous sobs worse. Hermione was aware of all of this, but could not make it stop.

"Hey, Ginny?" Both girls stiffened, the groom's sudden appearance shocking the sobs into submission. "Why don't you go down stairs. I'll manage this."

Ginny was so at a loss, she left without much convincing. With the distraction gone, Hermione was momentarily at a loss. Her tears worked through their confusion first and began to pool once more, blurring her vision of her old friend.

"Its bad luck to see the bride on her wedding day, you prat."

He gave a halfhearted chuckle and kneeled before her. Grabbing one of the tissues off her borrowed makeshift vanity, he careful wiped one cheek, then the other. All the while, leaning her head gently this way and then that with opposite hand. Finally he ran a thumb gently under her left eye and dropped his hands to hers, which were clenched so hard to keep herself from shaking that the knuckles were white.

"I'd heard that some where. Both things, actually. My mother and sister have been screaming at me all morning. But, our whole relationship is one big disaster prone accident, I figure what's one more thing up in arms against us? I'm worried about you, love."

That just made her worse. "Oh, Ron. Don't say that. It's not-!"

He lifted one hand to cup left cheek and it was affective in silencing her contradiction. "Hermione, I'm about to very insightful and sensitive to your feelings. You don't want to be running your gob for this." She let a small smile lift at the corners of her mouth and gave a gentle nod for him to continue. "I've known you since we were 11. You, above all else, admire great magic, courage and cleverness. He was all those things, and more. I'm not. I have a fantastic record of hurting, ignoring and out right running from you and anything resembling emotional, and sometimes mental, stability. You terrify me, always have and always will.

"What you did to him, though? You challenged him, and made him really follow through with things in a way even George couldn't sometimes. Blimey, 'Mione, the skiving snack boxes started out as a prank to get you to miss classes since horrible circumstances that sent you to the Madam Pomfrey seemed to be the only way to keep your nose out of a book."

"But, Ron-?"

"I'm not him. I can't be. No matter how hard I try. You don't know how desperately I will for that damn wall to have not fallen, or at least to have been wrong about how badly it would hurt you. I can't do that either." He shook his head, his face wearing its usual mask of bewilderment. "Bloody hell, I can't make things right. I'm too selfish to leave you, either way, and far too selfish to say I wish things had worked out for the two of you. But, if you let me and given some time, I do think I could make you smile. At least once a week. Not like him, that's for damn sure, but in my own way."

She threw her arms around him in a burst of gratitude she didn't know how to fully comprehend. He held her back, sensing she wasn't quite stable, and hummed a lullaby she didn't recognise in her ear. His arms were warm and familiar, hands large and comforting as they rubbed her in time with her soft sobs. She felt dangerously safe and could tell that her crying was coming to an end.

"I never realised that you'd been aware. I didn't even know, not until it was far too late."

Ron cocked his head and smirked. "Of course I was aware. I knew before either of you did, I would imagine. Just another thing for my brother to get first or beat me at. I was even second place in loving you. That just beats it all, doesn't it? The curse of being the last born son, suppose."

She leaned back to give him a once over. "You sneaky bastard. Why didn't you tell me?"

"And risk the wrath of Hermione Granger, greatest witch of our age, after telling her I know something she doesn't? I'm dense, not dumb." He allowed a sheepish smile. "Plus, it was my trump card. Only lead I had in the game for your affection. Couldn't give up the only thing that gave me a chance."

She sniffed and kissed his forehead. Pushing him back, she squared her shoulders and met his gaze. Her resolve, having been a mere scant thing until then, was strong and sure.

"Get out. I have to get ready and you're mother was right to harass you. Sneaking in here, and all." She shooed him toward the door. "If you aren't at the end of that isle in an hour, Ronald, I will hex you so fast you would think it was yesterday."

He stood quickly, a glint in his eye she'd never seen before, and held his hands up in surrender. "Now, don't go doing that. Who would marry you? No one else is thick enough to, not when every survival instinct screams "run!"

She smiled softly as he backed out, sending a wink her way before securely closing the door. Signing shakily, she turned to assess the damage her breakdown had wrought. She paused, though, at the sight before her.

A smile. Small in size, but genuine was definitely there. It even glimmered faintly in her eyes.

"That's one."


End file.
